


Outside, For the First Time

by Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Good Parent Grace Hargreeves, Grace Hargreeves- centric, I love Grace so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs/pseuds/Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs
Summary: Grace is torn between her programming to obey the rules set by Mr.Hargreeves, and her duty to the children, and decides that being a person is self determined.ORI love Grace so much, and thought I would add in some nice bonding and emotions for the emotionally stunted beings.
Relationships: Grace Hargreeves & Everyone
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Outside, For the First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening, my fellow frogs!
> 
> I just finished the second season of TUA, and the character development is so rich, and I wanted to add some more to Grace, and how amazing and beautiful and dedicated she is, so I wrote this, and all of the children are five year olds, because it's funny to see them try and comfort their mother.  
> I hope you enjoy, and I love reading any comments I get, so I'd love to hear from you!  
> Happy reading!

Grace has always known that she is not a human. Sometimes, she thinks that it should be a terrible thing, to be convinced that you’re alive when you’re anything but, but she’s learned to get over it. That’s the thing, isn’t it: she’s  _ learned _ , and no simple android can do that. So, despite what she’s been told by Mr.Hargreeves, she is not a robot. She is not dead, not alive, not nothing, nor anything. Despite knowing all 273,000 words in the Oxford Dictionary, and being fluent in seven other languages, Grace doesn’t much like words, specifically, titles. She doesn’t much mind her name, because Grace is such a pretty name, but she doesn’t like any of the things that Mr.Hargreeves calls her. He was the one that named her, but he still only barked out a regular, harsh, “you”, and “Miss”, and the occasional, bitter, “dear.” She tries not to think too much about Mr.Hargreeves, her master, her creator, and focuses on whatever else pops up into her existence.

Grace is lucky, for she is a mother to seven extraordinary children. They are not given titles, at least, not titles like her’s. These children are assigned numbers, and placed according to that value. Number One is a strong child, willful and adventurous, but he always listens. Number Two is a bit like a small dog, really, for he barks and barks and barks but couldn’t bite. He’s sweet, though, and always talks to Grace, and always tries to drag her outside with him. Number Three is intelligent, easily keeping up with the scholarly words of Mr.Hargreeves, attentive and wise in the ways of people. Number Four sees things no child should have to, and Grace reveres him, in a way. Many nights she spends waiting at the foot of his bed, holding his hand, waiting for him to fall into a fitful sleep. Number Five is a bitter child, obstinate, but when no one is watching, he’s a people pleaser, and wanders after Grace as she shows him how to put on a coffee pot, even if the noise frustrates Mr.Hargreeves, and how to dust the high shelves, even if he can’t reach them on his own. Number Six is very openly a people pleaser, going with the strange ideas of his siblings, always pushing to the front with Number One to see what will happen next, even if he is as timid as Number Four. Number Seven is quiet: Grace knows that she’s been programmed to manage Number Seven, not care for her, but with her pearly-pale skin and doe eyes and tiny body and long hair, Grace struggles not to find love in the mechanical, crackling heart of hers. Number Seven hums songs with Grace, and tries to play checkers with Number Three, and lets Number Five drag her around the house, showing her how to start the coffee pot, how to dust the high shelves neither of them can reach, how to make peanut butter-marshmallow sandwiches, how to put on new records on the Victrola, and she hums the same songs Grace does to Number Six, desperate to calm him down after the  _ thing _ inside of him wriggles loose, and puts on coffee neither of them will drink, and gives him marshmallows. Mr.Hargreeves is wary of Number Seven, regarding her more like a venomous spider than a five year old child. Grace knows that somewhere inside of herself, she is commanded to treat Number Seven with the same fear, but as she watches her run in the courtyards after Number One and Number Two, and whisper and snicker with Number Three, and tell grand, old stories with Number Four, and toil after Number Five and Number Six as they show her how to  _ put on the coffee pot _ , and scramble to figure out how to make waffles on their own, Grace sees no danger, only a child, desperate to be close to her siblings.

…

It is cold, rainy and very late at night when Number Two and Number Seven go missing. Mr.Hargreeves is out of the house, a strange occurrence indeed, and Grace is left to worry. Number One had run up to her a few moments ago, tugging at the hem of her long skirt, pointing towards the door that they just returned through after playing in the courtyard, his brows pinched and his voice ashamed as he told Grace that they couldn’t find Number Two and Number Seven. She stood on the third floor, gazing down from a window as she searched quietly for the children, but it was no use. If the other five siblings had failed to find them from outside, Grace doubted that staring out a window would do much good in their search. Still, she waited in the warm, safe light of the house as the children,  _ her babies _ , were stuck out in the cold, dark rain. Grace shuddered.

‘ _ You can’t leave, Grace, _ ’ part of her mind whispered. ‘ _ Mr.Hargreeves won’t be happy at all if you left. _ ’

‘ _ He’ll be even less happy if he finds out that you lost the children! _ ’ the other half screamed. ‘ _ You let them get away, and now they’re stuck, and could have hypothermia, or pneumonia, or someone could have taken them! _ ’

‘ _ You’re not to leave this house! You weren’t made for it! You’re safe here, care for the others- _ ’

‘ _ But the children! Number Two can hardly put together a sentence if you don’t help him, and Number Seven must be terrified, she’s hardly left the house with a map in hand! _ ’ 

Grace groaned softly, hands coming up to hold her temples as the squabbling voices in her head quieted for just a moment. They seemed to be thinking, considering their next words, before both burst out,

‘ _ The children are gone! You’re a terrible mother! _ ” Grace shook her head violently, spinning it almost unnaturally to the opposite side, before resetting her neck. She took a deep breath, her carbon filters filling slowly, her cortical circuits flowing more clearly. She had already failed by letting the children get lost, but she couldn’t stand by as they waited in the dark October rains, nine o’clock fast approaching. Grace steeled herself as she walked to the hall closet that held all of her outfits, and decided that perhaps she could fail Mr.Hargreeves again, so long as she could save the children.

Six minutes and forty-seven seconds later, Grace is dressed in a simple white frock, bright yellow rain-slicker draped around her shoulders, her feet comfortable in matching yellow rain boots. She pulled out one of Mr.Hargreaves' prized umbrellas and marched to the front door, the opposing sets of circuits bickering in her mind. She was  _ never _ to leave the house, but was also designed to care for the children. Grace knew that she would face the wrath of Mr.Hargreaves no matter what she did, so she decided to prioritize the children, only five years old as of two weeks ago, and unlatched the front door. Her mind screamed at her to stop it before she did something she was never supposed to do, but ignored it, at least until rapid footsteps sounded behind her. Number One, Number Three, Number Four, Number Five and Number Six scampered up to her, rain coats thrown over their blazers. Grace internally scolded herself: she’d forgotten to put them to bed! Perhaps she was a bad mother, because she’d lost two of the children, and the remaining five were still in their day wear. She shook her head, but smiled as naturally as possible as Number One ran over and took her hand.

“Mom, we want to come, too. We lost them, maybe we can find them.” Number One shook his blonde hair out of his face before turning it up to beam at her, holding her hand tighter.

“We can help, Mom,” Number Three piped up, her rain boots squeaking on the hardwood floors as she stood stoically beside Grace, staring down the door before them. Number Six smiled as he took her other hand.

“We know you’re not supposed to leave the house, Mom, but we’ll be safer if we all go together. Right, Mom?” Grace’s circuits had gone quiet, none of her programming speaking as she heard something else stir in her mind. It wasn’t quite a commanding voice as her circuits had been, and spoke more in feeling, like how Number Six and Number One squeezed her hands, and how warm their palms were, and how confident Number One had sounded, and how stern they all looked for their age. Grace smiled, not because her circuits and nervous wires told her it was the appropriate reaction, but because something perhaps a little more human was feeling completed as she took in the sight of her children.

“Alright,” she breathed, “let’s go get your siblings,” and pushed open the barrier of her captivity.

…

Grace couldn’t remember the last time she smelled the rain in this pure, raw state. It still drizzled in thick droves around them, but no wind forced it into their faces, and instead, the children could jump into puddles under the street lamps before running to catch up to Grace. Number Four had told her that there was a park nearby, two blocks north, three blocks west, and there, a few meters in front of their merry yellow-clad party, was in fact, a park. Grace exhaled slowly in relief as they crossed the street, Number Three and Number Five running ahead, calling,

“Two, Seven, we found you!” Out from the shadow of a park bench, Number Seven scampered over, her blazer soaked and her hair plastered to her head, beaming up at Grace and her siblings. She ran into Number Three’s arms, laughing as her sister mumbled something about wet hair, before Number Two walked out, too, his legs covered in mud, his shoes missing. He looked tired, and swatted Number One away before coming to cling on Grace’s skirt. 

“M-m-mom, I don’t like ad-d-d-d-dventures at night. Th-th-the-they’re no fun.” He looked up at her with watery eyes and a dirt smeared face, and Grace laughed softly. She reached out to let her hand fall onto his sopping wet head, and ran her fingers through his short hair.

“You scared me when you left, sweetie, I didn’t know where you were. Were you and your sister alright? Why didn’t you come home?” Number Two stuck out his lower lip, his eyes welling up as he hid his face in Grace’s skirt.

“I-I’m s-s-s-s-sorry Mom! We-we-we went to find y-y-yo-you some p-p-pr-prett-pr-pretty leaves, like the ones Seven li-l-likes. We di-d-d-d-d-di-d-” Number Two broke himself off with a cry, the other siblings turning to him in disbelief, gathering around Grace as they nervously watched their brother. Grace shook her head.

“I’m not mad, Number Two, I was just worried! I’m so glad you’re okay, you and your sister, and now we can all go home and be safe, right?”

“But Mom,” Number Seven inquired, “aren’t you supposed to stay in the house?” Grace paused, considering her options before deciding on the truth.

“Your safety matters more to me than simple rules, Number Seven.”

On the walk back to the Academy, Grace took her time memorizing the click of her heels against the pavement, the warmth of Number Two’s hand in her own, the cold contrast of rain against her cheeks, and the sweet smell of rain late in October. Grace loved this freedom, even if it was only brief, and loved to share it with her children, who swarmed around her in a ball of energy despite it being well past their bedtimes. She knew that Mr.Hargreeves would be displeased with her, but as the swell of laughter filled her ears and a breeze blew rain about her ankles, she knew she wouldn’t regret a thing she did.

…

Mr.Hargreeves had attempted to wire her to be more submissive, to be more distant from this world she was caught up in, and Grace laughed as he finished his process, rebooting her and letting her stand from her seat. There was nothing, no level of wiring, rewiring, reprogramming or editing that could change the vivid clarity of existence. Grace knew what she was, and what she was not. Grace was a wonderful mother, and she was not a human, nor a robot. She listened to rules, but did not always follow them, and cared for the children, no, for  _ her _ children more than any rules, or even more than her programming. Grace was not alive, not dead, but she certainly was a person.

…

Two days after the rainy, dark, cold night, Grace let Johnny Cash’s  _ I Walk the Line _ drone pleasantly in the background, resting comfortably in an armchair in the sitting room as the children sat on couches and chairs around her, laughing and talking over one another. How wonderful it was, to be a fully-realized person, and how wonderful it was to surround yourself with other people of such sorts. Grace didn’t much like titles, but names, names were a precious thing, and made something a person. She looked around at the children, so full of life and brilliant futures, and her circuits supplied her with the quiet count off of numbers. Numbers couldn’t be people, Grace determined, just in the same way a mere robot couldn’t. So, she turned to Number Five, and said,

“Go put on a pot of coffee dear.”

“But Mom, it’s nearly bedtime, won’t the caffeine mess up our sleep?”

“Perhaps, but we can sleep another day. Would you put on the coffee?” Five didn’t hesitate to nod this time, running into the kitchen as she turned to the children who remained.

“Names are a wonderful thing, are they not?” She was greeted with silence, but no matter!- Grace smiled and beckoned Number One forward. “Names make humans people, not numbers.” Grace took Number One’s hand and looked into his glittering blue eyes, the boy scrambling to sit beside her in the chair.

“Number One, would you like a name?” He nodded, the smile on his face foreign in its level of excitement.

“Yes, Mom!”

“And do you know what you would like your name to be?” Number One hesitated. He thought, considered, muttered, and turned back to Grace.

“I don’t really know what goes into a name, Mom.”

“Well, that’s alright. I’ll list some, you tell me which you like, okay?” Number One nodded quickly.

“Alright, you tell me which one. Liam? Lucas? Lincoln?” Number One shook his head desperately. 

“Well, how about Lardon? Or Luther? Or Lo-”

“Wait! Say that one again, Mom.”

“Luther?”

“Yes! Yes, Luther.” Grace smiled at Numb- no, Luther, a child with a name, and said,

“Well,  _ Luther _ , move over, your siblings should have a turn, too.”

…

In the end, Diego named himself, having picked his name out a long time ago, and Allison had had Grace list names out like Luther had, and Klaus had laughed, saying that his name was an old man’s name, and it was perfect. Ben had spluttered in shock for a while before accepting Grace’s suggestion, and Vanya had asked for a pretty name, like one from where she had first been born. When Five has rushed back into the room, water splashed across the front of his blazer, his face flushed from exertion, muttering an apology for spilling water in the kitchen before handing Grace a cup of coffee, and eagerly climbed up in her lap when she offered him a name.

“Names are very special, Mom.” Grace had nodded as he took her face in his hands. “ _ Very _ important, okay?” Grace nodded again, and Five gently pinched her cheeks, grinning cheekily. “You can’t use my name around these panini-heads, it’s too good of a name for that. I’ve been thinking of names for a long time. There’s lots of nice ones, I like the name Deloris.”

“Is that your name, then, Deloris?” Five shook his head, pinching Grace’s cheeks again.

“No! No, that’s not my name, it’s just a  _ nice _ name. And you can’t tell them my name, alright, Mom? They’ll think it’s  _ silly _ , so it’s gotta be a  _ secret _ !” Five’s face was only inches from her own by the end of his sentence, his breath fanning annoyingly over her eyes, but she did her best not to flinch away.

“I’ll keep it a secret. Do you want to tell me?”

“Yes, but,” Five turned to his siblings waiting eagerly around the sitting room. “You all have to call me Five!” They all groaned, jealous that their brother wouldn’t tell them his name. 

“Five,” Ben called. “Five, come on! I tell you everything, and you won’t even tell me your name?” Five glared murderously, homicidal rage passing over his tiny, scrunched up face before he hissed,

“Maybe, fine, I guess I’ll tell you later. Go away, Ben!” The others sprang into outrage, envious of the clear favoritism played, before Five shouted,

“Stop it! Maybe I’ll tell you my name, maybe I won’t, but it’s my business, not yours!” His siblings quieted as Five leaned in to Grace to whisper his name in her ear, pulling back beaming as Grace giggled softly.

“That’s your name? You want your name to be-” Five slammed his hands over Grace’s mouth, his ears flushed and his brows furrowed, but he was smiling, laughing too.

“Yes, yes it’s my name Mom, but you can’t tell these silly children! They can’t know, Mom, you’ve gotta promise.” Grace nodded, prying his little hands away from her face and teased a gentle.

“I promise.”

…

Yes, what a wonderful thing it is to be a person, to be a mother, human or not.


End file.
